Shock and Aftershock
by Lala Kate
Summary: A chance meeting in a bar leads down a slippery slope for two wounded survivors.
1. Chapter 1

_So I write for Downton Abbey. It's my comfort zone, my passion. I never counted on one Killian Jones showing up and messing with my head, giving me another couple who would stalk me and demand that I sit and write about them. I never expected that Emma and Hook would begin to stalk me in the same manner as Mary/Matthew and Mary/Charles. I really don't need this in my life. I'm a wife, a mother, a teacher...in other words a busy woman._

_But daggum...this is just so much fun! And how do you say no to Killian Jones? ;)_

_I hope you enjoy this tale I anticipate will have 3 parts to it. And thanks ever so much for reading!_

* * *

She feels before she sees him, a hot gaze stroking her spine, a stool occupied beside her, the wafting scent of leather and spice too potent for her own good.

"Buy you a drink, Love?"

The words are half-spoken, half-purred, and she finally turns to face him, struck by sapphire and ebony and glorified stubble just too damn attractive for comfort.

"I already have one, in case you hadn't noticed."

Her response presses his lips together, instigating a lethargic nod from which she makes herself look away.

"But two is so much preferable to one, wouldn't you agree?"

His grin is full of himself, and she exhales a small laugh, wondering how a guy in this dive can appear to be swashbuckling.

"But one is safer," she retorts, seeing a flash of acknowledgement in eyes looking her over from top to bottom. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"Safety can be highly over-rated," he states, signaling the bartender to give them both another round. "Boring, even. Where's your sense of adventure?"

"I buried it a long time ago," she responds, knocking down the rest of her drink and setting her glass audibly on the bar. "It brought me nothing but pain and trouble."

"Ah," he returns, turning to face her head on. "So you've chosen to bury your face in the sand, then?" His chuckle reverberates uncomfortably into her ribs as he leans in too close. "And such a pretty face at that."

"Listen, Blackbeard," she tosses back. "I came here tonight to be alone, and you are quite obviously invading my space. Why don't you just swagger back to the _Jolly Roger _and mind your own damn business."

The way he licks his lips shouldn't be so engrossing, shouldn't make her breasts tingle, shouldn't make her want to slap the hell out of him after kissing him hard.

"I wish I had a pirate ship right now," he murmurs, moving directly to her ear. "I would be more than happy to offer you a private tour."

It's her turn to chuckle, and she stares at him incredulously, irritated and intrigued that he won't take no for an answer.

"I'll bet you do," she retorts, biting her lower lip. "But you're not getting your hands on my booty, Long John Silver."

It's an out and out laugh this time, the whiteness of his teeth catching her off guard.

"That's quite out of the question," he throws back at her. "Seeing as I only have one hand, Love."

It is then she sees a stump well concealed, hidden under the bar, making her swallow down pangs she can't quite identify.

"I'm sorry," she gushes, feeling suddenly unsteady. "I didn't know…I mean…"

"Don't bash yourself," he instructs softly, returning his arm to the shadows. "I've learned to live with it."

She can't get past the knot in her throat, the lump in her chest, so she takes another drink.

"What happened?"

"An unfortunate boating accident," he shrugs, turning from widening eyes burrowing in places he has sealed off for years. "I have a prosthesis, but sometimes it just gets in the way."

His observation hits home with a precision that hurts.

"I can understand that."

Her own words surprise her, and he flicks a brow in her direction, clearly waiting for her to continue.

"Living under false pretenses is exhausting," she expounds, not understanding why she keeps talking to this man she should shove off his stool. "That's all I meant."

"So what disguises do you wear, may I ask?" he queries, seeing a flash of fear in her gaze. "Do you employ a trunk full of them or just stick with one?"

God, he has some nerve.

"That's my business," she fires back, feeling the need to distance herself. "And who says I hide who I am?"

"I do," he challenges with a lop-sided grin crawling up his cheek. "Prove me wrong if you like."

She angles her body towards him, unable to walk away for reasons she won't entertain.

"I don't play games," she insists, her voice dropping decidedly. "What you see is what you get."

"Is that a suggestion or a promise?" he questions, licking his lips much too slowly.

"You're unbelievable," she retorts, shaking her head. "One minute we're discussing your accident, and the next you're making another pass at me."

"Would you rather I kiss you and be done with it?" he asks, something tempting and dangerous flashing from his gaze straight to places she can't think about.

"You wouldn't dare," she challenges, staring at him hard.

"I lost a hand, Love," he replies smoothly. "Not my balls."

Did he really just say what she thought she heard?

"I'd protect those crown jewels if I were you," she breathes roughly. "Trying to flash them around me could be more dangerous than you realize."

Her chest rises and falls at a tempo that makes her uncomfortable, but she keeps her expression fixed, eyes narrowed, mouth tight.

"I already know how dangerous you are, believe me."

There is something raw in his reply, something that doesn't fit with what she wants to think of him.

"Then why are you messing with me?"

He shrugs again, turning away quickly, but not before something exposed hits her from depths of blue.

"I don't know, honestly," he answers softly. "I keep telling myself just to walk away, but I can't for some reason." He then faces her, too close, too transparent, too masculine. "Why don't you just walk away from me?"

She fears her ribs may crack from the force of her heart pounding against them.

"I'm planning to," she argues, despising the waver in her voice. "Make no mistake about that."

"When? Now or after we go to bed?"

Her laugh is audible, and she leans back in semi-shock.

"You weren't kidding about your balls, were you?" she exclaims. "They're obviously bigger than your brain."

His resulting smile targets her nipples directly.

"There's only one way to find out, isn't there, Love?" he smirks. "And I'm willing if you are."

She should walk away…now, while her feet are still touching dry land.

"Please," she sighs, rolling her eyes as she stands. "You couldn't handle it."

He stands beside her, making her want something she has tried to forget, tugging on a need too dangerous to entertain.

"Perhaps you're the one who couldn't handle it."

His gauntlet falls to her feet, his challenge blowing on kindling that came out of nowhere.

It is on. Damn.

She tugs on his jacket, pulling his face to hers, mouth to mouth, tongue to tongue, tasting and savoring what she knows to be delicious poison. Everything about him skims over her pores, tickles dormant nerves, awaking an inner-siren that frightens her even as she kisses him in a frenzy. Heat pools, senses ache, his teeth tug her lower lip in a gesture that makes her arch into him. She can't breathe, can't reason, doesn't want to think about what she is doing, knowing she will hate herself in the morning, unable to stop this wanting sweeping her under.

"What was that?" he manages, staggering under the weight of something that may be his undoing, his mind spinning in a whirlpool of need.

"A one-time thing," she insists raggedly, not recognizing her voice as her own, her legs much too unsteady for her own good. The truth is she has no idea what it was.

And that scares the hell out of her.

"If you say so, Love," he whispers, all arrogance gone as he stares back at her in a fog from which he is uncertain he wants to emerge.

Ever.

"Yes, I say so," she returns, taking his hand and pulling him towards the exit, plunging over a slippery slope both of them choose to ignore.

* * *

_Your thoughts are always most welcome. _


	2. Chapter 2

_So this installment ran away with me..much longer than the previous chapter, but I do hope you enjoy it. Many thanks to my dear friends Cls2011 and miscreant rose for all of their feedback and support with everything I write. And many thanks to all of you readers out there! If you're here, I think you're wonderful. :D_

_Characters are not mine. (Wish they were...) _

* * *

This is a bad idea.

Everything inside of her screams it. Everything she knows about life confirms it. But here they are, just outside of her apartment, just waiting for her to finish undoing the locks, just waiting for her to open the door.

To let him in…in more ways than one.

This is a really bad idea.

But entrance is granted, and they slide inside, met by a darkness that hits her harder than it should. The calendar is still sitting on her counter, the beer she half-consumed still resting where she left it, casting a long shadow that threatens to abduct her.

Damn. She doesn't need this right now. This is why she went to that bar to begin with—why she keeps to herself, why she needs to forget.

Why she knows men are a bad idea. Always have been. Always will be. No exceptions.

"Nice place, love."

It's the accent, she tells herself, the scent of something primal and untamed, the promise of the blatantly physical that has impaired her judgment. He's just a guy, one easily manipulated by a stroke between the legs and the promise of bare skin. Just a guy she will use for her own sanity before moving on with her life. Just a guy, and one she will never see again after this unadvised dalliance is over.

"Well, don't get too attached to it. You're not going to be here long."

His chuckle tickles her back as he moves in close, arms encircling her with an authority she finds way too attractive.

"In a hurry, are you?"

His breath skims her neck, and she fights back the urge to lean into him fully, to surrender without thought the way her body is begging her to do.

"And here I was planning to savor the moment."

Damn that voice of liquid velvet.

Hot lips meet the base of her neck, and her eyes fall shut as a charge scurries down her legs. Her fingers lose themselves in the expanse of thick hair, pressing into his scalp as her backside presses into him.

"This is better, don't you think?" he questions, tracing her hips with a heat that burns through denim. "Better than rushing through all of the delicious preliminaries?"

Her thighs quiver rebelliously.

"Savor all you want," she manages as his one hand begins to slide under her jacket, notching her voice up a half-step. "Just know I'm kicking you out once this is over."

That blasted chuckle rocks her again. She steels herself against it, part of her already realizing she is fighting a losing battle even before she draws her sword.

This is definitely a bad idea.

"Then I'll take my time, love," he whispers, teeth nibbling her earlobe. "Draw it out as long as possible."

Damn.

Fingers deftly unbutton her jeans, and her mind slides backwards in time with her body. Only once, she promises herself, only once to ease the pain, only once to banish memories too painful to entertain, only once to lose herself in an oblivion she has avoided for far too long.

"And just how long is that?" she breathes as her head lolls back on his shoulder, feeling his smile stretch across her jaw.

"Longer than you may think."

She gasps as fingers splay across the skin of her abdomen, their strokes matching the rhythm of his tongue as it dances across her jaw.

"I don't know," she gasps, letting go of what reason stubbornly clings to fogged corners of her brain. "My expectations are growing by the moment."

"Your expectations are not the only thing that's growing, I assure you," he mummers before spinning her around, branding her with an indigo smolder that creeps under her skin. He plunders her lips with sheer force, the kind that flushes every nerve ending at once. Mouths are open, the kiss raw and demanding, his lips artfully tuning aching cords humming with life and need. Her arms wrap around him, pulling him closer against her better judgment, each stroke of his tongue blotting out a portion of what hurts, each caress up her back burning guilt to hot ash.

Noses nudge, jackets fall to the floor, skill and passion making her forget that the man has only one hand. She doesn't miss it, ironically, and is amazed at what quick work he makes of her buttons, feeling her blouse being nudged off a shoulder to grant his mouth a firm hold.

It is the last coherent thought she has.

Lips explore, teeth graze as she is sampled and savored like a fine wine. No corner is left unexplored, no freckle overlooked, and somehow they are on her bed, lost in a tangle of limbs, only silk and black lace separating skin from skin.

Hands trace flesh, panties are eased down, briefs discarded, her bra nudged aside to reveal what aches for his mouth. Then nothing remains between them, flushed skin exposing want, and all is explored, mapped and charted with a detail that leaves them both panting.

"You're stunning," he whispers, the ragged edge of his tone letting her know he is as affected as she. "Truly a vision."

She answers with a nip to his chest.

"You're not bad, yourself."

His smile is too disarming, upping her need to the level of desperation.

"And we're just getting started," he purrs, dancing fingertips across her nipple. "I can't wait to hear what you have to say once we're done."

Cocky bastard.

"Besides get out?" she breathes, staring into an expression that unnerves her on too many levels.

"Why don't you let me in, first?" he grins, too sure of himself. "Then we'll see if you change your tune."

She isn't allowed a response as his mouth covers hers, his hand inching downwards, coaxing a moan, drawing a whimper. Intimacies are nudged opened, delicacies touched, and she arches into him, clinging on for dear life as waves begin to lap atop each other. She is spiraling hard, pressing into his hand as he teases and cajoles, climbing and reaching just as he backs away.

"Wait! What?" she exclaims, catching her breath, feeling a palm blaze a smooth passage up her hips and waist as the end of his arm traces erotic circles on her hip. He can't leave her like this, her body nearly bucking in withdrawal from his touch.

"Patience, love," he hums into her ribs, his lips nipping the edges of her breasts, his mouth roving lower as a hand works into her hair. "Just savoring the moment, remember?" He scales down her body, inch by inch, leaving a moist passage as his tongue edges near dark boundaries.

His savoring nearly makes her buck him off the bed.

It is a shock to her system in all the right ways, this contact that leaves her completely open to him. He is tender yet persistent, and she closes her eyes, a dance of color splashing across her vision in soft waves and sharp angles. She is gasping now, making incoherent noises as her walls clamp down. It is too much, too, too much, and her head arches back, her hands needing something to grab, finding her pillow, digging nails in hard.

Then an internal explosion, muscles clench and crash, waves thundering in with the force of a tsunami, her body cresting on a high tide. Ripples expand, her core quivering as limbs follow suit in a thunderous aftershock. He moves up her body, kissing her with the delicacy of a starving man approaching a banquet, feasting on her lips, drinking her in, pressing his body directly on to hers, leaving her in no question of his current state of arousal.

She cups the smooth edge of what should be a hand, drawing it to her mouth for a kiss, watching discomfort mix with need at her action.

"Don't," he gasps, and she sees brokenness staring back at her, avoiding her eyes as he draws his arm away.

"Why not?"

He pushes himself up on shaky elbows, sighing into her skin, clearly embarrassed by her action and his response.

"It's not necessary," he tosses back, feathering a kiss across her jaw as a means of distraction, attempting that roguish grin he has mastered.

"I never said it was," she returns, moving her hand back over the stub, rubbing her thumb over it for reasons she cannot fathom.

Shame coats his expression, leaving in its wake a raw vulnerability that strikes deep.

"Wait—hasn't a woman touched you there before?"

His chin collapses to his chest, and he licks his lips, eyes flitting from her face to the surrounding walls.

"Oh my God—they haven't," she observes, propping herself up on shaky arms. "Or you haven't let them."

The realization moves in, doing something to her insides she refuses to entertain.

"No one has ever wanted to," he admits, the rough edge of his tone scraping her insides raw.

"And?"

She knows there is more, knows he is holding back with the same conviction she knows when someone is lying.

"And it's…"

His voice breaks, clenching her chest, as she feels this one-night-stand tugging on places she sealed off a long time ago.

"It's been a long time…since I've been with anyone."

He searches her face for judgment, and she touches his cheek, understanding on a level that terrifies her, even though she is shocked by his admission. He is not a man who would want for women, dazzlingly attractive, drippingly hot. If he's been alone, it is by choice, she is certain, and she wonders what has happened, what led this man on top of her to keep to himself.

"It's been a while for me, too," she breathes, watching his brow flicker in surprise.

"I find that hard to believe," he returns, the lines of his face softening until he looks nearly boyish.

God—that expression just hurts.

"It's not that much of a stretch," she claims, watching him process her claim with eyes both disbelieving and hopeful, making her tremble at an earthquake she never predicted. "Trust me."

What the hell is she getting herself into? And why hasn't she just put an end to this insanity?

His mouth on her cheek answers her immediately, a dizzying caress to her breast punctuating his response.

"I do," he mumbles on her shoulder, vulnerability showing through cracked bravado. "But I still find it difficult to fathom."

_If you only knew_, she thinks to herself as she pushes logic backwards and gives in to pure instinct, needing it to numb raw nerves freshly exposed.

_Only once_, she reminds herself. _This is only a one-time thing_.

A kiss is brushed on the end of his arm, and he sucks in air through his teeth, clenching his jaw, shutting his eyes. But he makes no protest, nor does he stop her. She takes his stump in her mouth, sucking, licking, making him moan as her other hand drops lower, mimicking the actions of her mouth on what burns for her. His springs to life in her grip, kissing her pulse, touching her reverently, making her feel more than she should, more than she needs.

She feels his growl of hunger as it spurs her on. Skin slickens, moisture pools, and his back arches in time with hers, making them cry out simultaneously.

"Just a moment, love," he commands, rolling off of her quickly, grabbing what's needed from his pocket before rejoining her on the bed. Hands fumble in haste until he is covered, and he is inside her before she realizes it, filling her completely as her every sense races into overdrive.

"Oh God," she pants, wrapping legs around him, her body setting a tempo he finds and follows instantly. It's as if he knows her every detail, and he plays her like a virtuoso with flawless technique. She sees this has become more to him, that a boundary was crossed when she touched his pain, that he has entered her in more ways than one.

_Bad idea. Only once…_but convictions are melting away with the speed of a wet wicked witch.

Oh, God. What is she doing? How did she let this happen?

"What's your name, love?"

The question startles her back to reality, the shock that she doesn't know his making her eyes pop open.

"Emma," she confesses, her identity slipping into his keeping before she can think it through. She gasps as he moves in deeper, this shared knowledge demolishing yet another boundary she believed was well-fortified.

"Killian," he rasps, the sound of his name singeing into memory, imprinting itself into the very pores stroked by his mouth. She cannot think, cannot reason, she is too far gone.

There is only him, only Killian, only what he is doing to her, kindling in her, cultivating in plots previously resistant to tilling.

Then she crests and shatters, throbbing all over as her nails brand his back.

"Killian," she echoes, riding it out, clasping him with a grip of iron, feeling him in places he didn't belong.

He moans as he stiffens against her, falling over a ledge into an abyss created in her bed. They have connected in too many places, in too many realms, and she trembles in his arms, knowing herself to be more than just physically exposed.

_Bad idea. Bad idea_…

"Emma."

Her name sounds like a prayer from his lips, echoing in her ribcage, cutting through to what pulses in her chest. She is gathered into strong arms, uncomfortable with such intimacy yet unwilling to break it, needing it like air, fearing it like the plague. He kisses her as a lover, capturing her breath, staring into rather than at her.

This isn't good…but it is so incredibly good. Damn it. How is she supposed to handle this?

_A one-time thing…one-time…once…_

She feels him roll off of her, missing their connection though she refuses to show it. He spoons her against his body, and she looks at the wall, watching night shadows sneak into her room through the window.

"When did it happen?"

Her palm cups his stump, wishing she didn't need to know. But she does—it is now necessary for reasons she doesn't fully understand.

"Five years ago," he answers, his breath tickling her shoulder.

A cold certainty smacks her unexpectedly, and she turns her face towards him to verify her hunch.

"What else happened?"

She hears his swallow, watches him flinch, and she wonders if he will answer her or dart from her bed.

"My wife was killed."

She shuts her eyes to the pain bleeding from this wound that has never fully healed.

"I'm sorry."

He nods wordlessly at her condolences, stroking her arm, collecting his voice.

"It was five years ago today."

Her lungs freeze as her eyes fly open, and she moves away from his embrace to face him head on.

"What?"

He looks as startled as she feels, and he pushes himself up on an elbow.

"The accident that took my wife and claimed my hand," he explains, watching her too closely. "It happened five years ago today."

Oh, God.

Hands nervously tuck hair behind her ear, and she shakes her head in denial. This can't be happening, not a coincidence like this. But he couldn't have known, and she is certain he isn't lying.

"Something happened to you that same day."

His observation hits home, and he knows it. She sits up straight, hunching forward to rub her forehead, avoiding eyes prying into tender zones.

"I'm right, aren't I?" he continues, tilting her chin in his direction. "You can tell me, Emma."

_Bad idea…bad idea…_

"I had a baby," she confesses, her voice splintered as it rushes out her lungs. "Five years ago today."

He scans the room quickly, seeking evidence of a child, finding none, fearing the worst.

"What happened?"

The dread in his tone is tangible, and she exhales loudly.

"I gave him up."

Her body begins to tremble, her mind seeking blessed numbness.

"I'm not meant to be a mother," she explains into the darkness, convincing herself yet again. "And I wanted to give him his best chance."

He rubs his face, and she looks away, wondering if he will judge her as she judges herself.

"That must have been difficult. I can't even imagine."

"Says the man who lost his wife?"

Eyes lock, breathing stills, the only sound the call of a siren wailing somewhere nearby.

"Says the man who lost his wife," he repeats flatly. "On the day your son was born. That's rather odd, don't you think?"

His question echoes in a room with no resonance, both of them feeling something akin to electric shock tingling across their limbs.

"Yeah," she agrees, feeling completely adrift in a sea with no bottom. "Really odd."

"Should I leave now?"

_Yes. Go. You're already too close_, she thinks, unable to speak as blue eyes suck her under.

"That's up to you," she offers, suddenly nervous of how he will respond.

And of how she will respond to him.

_Bad idea…one-time thing…only once…_

She can't look at him, can't offer more, can't allow herself this ridiculous hope that he will chase away her demons, that he will hold her securely until she falls asleep.

That he will prove her wrong about all she knows.

"I think I'll stay, then," he states, watching her for a reaction, receiving a single nod in response.

He leans back into the pillow, and she is tempted to snuggle into him, to feel cherished even though she knows that's nothing more than a painful illusion. She lays down slowly on her own pillow, turning her back to him, hearing him sigh into the night and adjust his body behind her as she reminds herself of what she knows all too well.

Fairy tales aren't real. White knights don't exist. And people like her don't get happy endings.

* * *

_Penny for your thoughts?_


End file.
